


A Woman's Love is Like a Big Spider (Super Gross)

by someonenotchloe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Big Spiders, Derek also being dumb, Derek isn't great at feelings, Excessive Ice-Cream Consumption, Fluff, M/M, Pack feelings, Pining, Stiles being dumb, Worried!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonenotchloe/pseuds/someonenotchloe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Derek disappears to hunt the latest horrible creature, Stiles has sort of an epiphany about his feelings for Derek. But when Derek gets back, Stiles has no idea what to do with this new information, and to be honest it's kind of freaking him out a little bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Woman's Love is Like a Big Spider (Super Gross)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mjravensgate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjravensgate/gifts).



> Title from A Softer World. I don't own anything. That is all.

**A Woman’s Love Is Like A Big Spider (Super Gross)**

When Derek bursts into Stiles’ room through the window, in the middle of the night, while Stiles is trying to sleep, to be honest Stiles is not even really surprised. He heaves a sigh, heaves himself out of bed, and drops down in his computer chair to Google whatever baddie Derek and the pack are up against this time.

“What can I do for you, sourwolf?” He yawns.

“Don’t call me that,” says Derek, almost automatically, but his heart’s not really in it. “I need you to look something up. There’ve been weird sightings, some sort of creature out at the old lumber mill. A bunch of teenagers say something attacked them.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” he asks.

Derek shrugs, flops back on Stiles’ bed. “Research. That’s what you’re good at, right?”

“Okay, while I _am_ totally awesome at research, it is kind of completely a lot easier if I have something to go on. ‘Some sort of creature’ and ‘attacked some teenagers’ narrows it down to, oh, I don’t know, _every single monster ever or possibly just some crazy backwoods hillfolk._ ”

“So start there,” says Derek, “and wait for the rest of the pack to get back with more information.”

“The rest of the pack?” Stiles asks. “Like, all of them? Here? All of them are coming here?”

“As soon as they’re done looking for clues. To help you decide whether or not we’re dealing with crazy backwoods hillfolk.”

“Okay,” says Stiles, swiveling away from his computer, as there really isn’t much he can do, as of now. “Can I at least take a shower before every single person I am friends with sees me in my sleepy vulnerable state? Again?”

“No,” says Derek brusquely.

A few minutes later – because Stiles goddamned Stilinski does not have to do everything Derek Hale tells him to, even if he is a terrifyingly badass and unfairly attractive Alpha werewolf – Stiles is in the shower, trying to scrub off the smell of sleep and teenage boy and certain things teenage boys might have been doing alone in bed not that long ago. He can’t relax like he usually does in the shower, can’t just let the tension out into the warm water, because he can’t stop thinking about Derek fucking Hale being just down the hall and him being naked and it being really easy for Derek to come in here and, like, kill him, or threaten him, or, you know, other things…

Stiles snaps himself out of that train of thought before it can leave the station, and he slams the water off, towels himself dry, and pulls on the spare pair of pajamas he brought in with him. Hey, Stiles can think ahead. Thinking ahead is what Stiles is all about. That’s pretty much Stiles’ role in the pack. He’s thinking-ahead guy.

Stiles is contemplating all this when he arrives in his bedroom to find Derek at his computer, typing something into Google. Stiles’ window is open to the night and a chilly breeze is invading his cozy room. Annoyed, he closes it, and rounds on Derek.

“Any particular reason you felt my room had to be air conditioned in the depths of winter?”

“It’s fall,” says Derek, not looking away from the screen.

“My point stands.”

“Jackson dropped by,” he says, turning away from the screen to face Stiles. The dim light from the computer and the streetlight outside are highlighting Derek’s face, those magnificently unfair cheekbones, in ways that make Stiles’ chest do uncomfortable things.

“And left the window open on his way out.” Stiles shakes his head. “Typical. Werewolves these days.”

“He might have given me a couple of leads,” says Derek, turning back to the computer, pulling open the Bestiary that Stiles and Lydia and Danny have been working on and starting to apply filters. That was one of those nifty things Danny was doing that Stiles couldn’t begin to wrap his head around. Filters. He sighs.

“So let me guess,” he says. “You think you might remember some ancient werewolf tale you heard as a puppy about the lair of some mysterious and ancient beast and you’re gonna go kill it and then maybe stop for drive-thru?”

“I was never a ‘puppy’,” says Derek. “And why would I want drive-thru?”

“Nevermind,” says Stiles. “Fly. Be free. Chase down the baddie so the rest of us don’t have to.”

“That was the plan,” says Derek, his mouth twisting weirdly.

“Okay,” says Stiles, finally flopping back into the warm embrace of his bed. He’s still sort of damp, but buzz cuts make drying efficient. “Good plan.” He yawns. “Sleepy now.”

Derek gives him a nigh unnoticeable smile. Stiles grins back. “Alright,” says Derek, unfolding himself from Stiles’ computer chair. “If you see the rest of the pack…”

“Daddy’ll be home soon,” Stiles says, snuggling into his pillow exhaustedly. “Got it.”

“Good,” says Derek, a note of humor in his voice. “Goodbye, Stiles.”

“Bye, Sourwolf,” says Stiles, letting himself slip back into blissful sleep. Before he does, he hears Derek slip out the window, and then, very carefully, slide it closed behind him

When Stiles drifts back into consciousness, some hours later, it’s to what sounds like wind rustling through the trees, a quiet susurrus at the back of his hearing, and he has the momentary mad thought that he’s fallen asleep – or been knocked out – in a field again. But no, he’s definitely in his bed, that spot of drool definitely on his pillow. So the noise has to be…

He groans and sits up, the blanket someone had considerately placed on him falling off. The rest of the pack turns to look at him, eyes wide like deer caught in the headlights of his early morning rage, and they stop whispering. Scott is sitting on his bed, with Allison next to him, and Isaac is on the floor by his feet. Boyd and Erica are leaning against Stiles’ door looking cool as cucumbers, and Jackson is sitting in his chair, Lydia in his lap, with Danny leaning on the back of the chair.

“Morning,” says Danny, flashing Stiles a smile.

“Morning,” says Stiles. “Or should I say, what the hell are you guys all doing in my bedroom?”

“We came by to report to Derek,” says Scott. “But he wasn’t here.”

“Yeah, he left after that one” – Stiles motions to Jackson – “reminded him of an old shanty his werewolf mother used to sing to him about the secret lair of something or other.”

“I’m assuming that’s artistic license,” says Jackson.

“So he doesn’t need to know what we found out for him?” asks Scott, and he sounds a little hurt. Stiles huffs out a laugh.

“You could always report to me,” says Stiles, dragging himself out of bed, checking to make sure he is, in fact, wearing clothes. The kind of thing you only forget once.

“What for?” asks Jackson, and Lydia smacks him.

“Hey,” says Stiles, leveling a finger at him. “I am useful.”

Jackson sighs. “You’re useful.”

“And don’t you forget it. If you all tell me what you know, I can use the Bestiary” – here he shoos Jackson and Lydia out of his chair – “to find out what we’re after, so we can send in backup, if Derek needs it.” He plops down, still early morning tired and wishing for caffeine. Pulls up a word document, flexes his fingers. “Alright, shoot.”

“Derek sent me and Isaac to sniff around the mill, see if we could smell any trace of the thing,” says Scott. He shrugs. “There wasn’t much there. Sort of a weird smell under the lumber, like a basement or a crevice or something.”

“Pretty sure ‘basement’ and ‘crevice’ aren’t definitive descriptions, here, Scott,” says Stiles.

“Well, that’s what I smelled,” says Scott defensively. “Isaac?”

“Scott’s right,” Isaac says. “There was sort of a weird smell, but I couldn’t tell what it was. It also smelled like those guys that got attacked, though, like fear and adrenaline. A little bit of blood.”

“Oh yeah,” says Scott. “That too.”

“Good,” says Stiles, writing it down. “Probably means they didn’t just make it up. There was something out there. Did you smell any other humans?” He still hasn’t ruled out crazy backwoods hillfolk.

“No,” says Isaac. “Nobody there for a while. Few other teenagers, people with spray paint or whatever. Nothing recent.”

“Alright,” says Stiles. “Who’s next?”

“I went by there in the morning,” says Allison. “I mean, earlier. When it got light. Had a look around. Looks like something smashed into a couple of the machines, banged them up pretty bad.”

“How do we know they weren’t like that before?” Stiles asks.

Allison blushes faintly. “I’ve… been there before.” She clears her throat. “With Scott.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” says Isaac.

“I can’t hear you, lalalalala,” says Stiles, plugging his fingers with his ears. “Next, please!”

“Derek stopped by my place before he got to yours,” says Lydia. “He asked Danny and me to look into it. Of course, he had absolutely nothing to go on.”

“Right?”

“But I called Danny and he started looking into the kids who were attacked.”

“Turns out none of them are talking about it, whatever it was,” says Danny. “No police report or anything. Nothing on social media. They’ve all clammed up.”

“Do we know what they were doing out there?”

Isaac snorts.

“Isaac?”

“Sorry,” he says. “Yeah. They were getting high and having sex. That’s pretty much it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Until that thing showed up, that is.”

“Right,” says Stiles. “So it’s probably not anything they, like, summoned, or anything.”

“Wouldn’t say so.”

“Cool,” said Stiles. “Narrows it down. Boyd? Erica?”

“We weren’t looking into it at first,” says Erica, and Boyd nods. “We were on other duties. But then Derek told us to widen our patrol area, keep an eye out for anything at all unusual.”

“And?”

“Nothing to report,” she says, shrugging.

“Boyd?”

“Nope,” he says.

Stiles sighs. “Okay. Jackson? What did you tell Derek when you reported?”

Jackson shrugs. “Dunno. I went out to the mill after Scott and Isaac left. Had a look around.”

“Wait. If you got there second, why did you report to Derek first?”

“I was… I made…” Scott looks helplessly at Allison, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Okay, got the picture, god please no more.”

“I dropped Scott at Allison’s, and then I had to go for a run,” says Isaac.

“Okay, okay. Jackson?”

He shrugs, clearly unwilling to report back to a kid he used to terrorise. “I just told Derek what I saw. Same as Isaac and Allison, basically. Kids having a party. Weird smell. Stuff bashed in.”

“You didn’t say anything else?”

Jackson frowns, like he’s thinking about it. “I made a couple of comments.”

“Like?” says Stiles through gritted teeth. Getting information out of Jackson is, was, and ever shall be an enormous pain in Stiles’ neck.

“I told him the way stuff was bashed in was weird. There was a weird pattern to it. And the smell…”

“Yes?”

“I dunno, it was weird. My first reaction to it was that it was… food.”

“And then?”

Jackson shrugs. “He told me I could go. I went.”

“And left the window open,” Stiles griped.

“Bite me,” says Jackson.

“So…I don’t get it,” says Allison. “What did Derek take away from all this that he headed out to find the thing straight away?”

“I have no idea,” Stiles says, shaking his head wearily. “It is too early on a Saturday for me to figure out Derek Hale. Try back next Tuesday.”

“If you think you can figure out Derek by next Tuesday, you’ve got another think coming,” says Scott. “The man is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, adrift in a sea of vague unhelpfulness.”

“I might think better if there weren’t eight people crammed into my bedroom disturbing me,” he says.

“Come on, guys,” Lydia sighs, stretching. “Mom wants us to get out.”

“Don’t call me that,” says Stiles. “It’s too much pressure. You’ll give me wrinkles.”

When he has rid himself of the pack, Stiles starts theorizing. He takes what he knows about the thing Derek’s gone after, and he considers all the possibilities, checks things against the Bestiary, does research.

At least theoretically this is what he does. Mostly what he does is go get a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food and sit on his bed, eating it with a serving spoon.

It’s a Saturday, so he doesn’t have school, and his dad won’t be back until late, so he is free to do this relatively uninterrupted. Scott calls a couple of times, to check in, let him know they’re still looking for clues and they haven’t heard from Derek yet.

Stiles eats more ice cream.

Eventually he runs out of ice cream and he has to go to the grocery. He hasn’t actually changed out of his pajamas yet today, and he doesn’t especially want to show up at the grocery in his boxers, so he goes to great efforts to put on a pair of jeans and some sneakers before he goes out. He grabs his hoodie, also, to hide his Backstreet Boys t-shirt. An amusing gift from Scott.

At the grocery he grabs a small basket and gets like three pints of ice cream, as well as some noodles and spaghetti sauce for dinner. As he checks out, the cashier looks sympathetically at him.

“Bad breakup?” she asks.

“What?” says Stiles. “No.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’ve been in the same place you are. You love them, they leave you, all you want to do is eat ice cream and cry.”

Actually, that is all Stiles wants to do, but it definitely isn’t because of a breakup. “Well,” he says. “I mean, yeah, but no one dumped me. There’s this guy, and he left town for a while, but he’ll be back.”

She sighs. “That’s what they all say.”

She hands him his bags and his receipt and Stiles leaves the store worried. What if Derek doesn’t come back? What if whatever horrible eldritch creature he’s chasing is too dangerous for him to handle alone and he dies out there? He should have brought the pack. Stiles should have _made him_ bring the pack. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He drives home still worrying, his mind providing innumerable ways in which Derek could have been killed horribly, or at least maimed or something.

Oh god. What if he’s out there, alive but badly injured? And he needs Stiles to find him and save him and Stiles is just sitting around eating ice cream and feeling sorry for himself.

Bashing his head against the wheel of the Jeep, Stiles parks and hurries inside. He heads up to his room, full of the intention to figure out where Derek’s gone and how he can get him back, but then he remembers how little information he has and sort of deflates. He opens another pint of ice cream and crawls under the covers.

Late that evening, as Stiles is sitting on the floor by his bed missing Derek, his window clatters open and a dark figure tumbles inside. He nearly jumps out of his skin, but he is momentarily hopeful that it’s Derek, and Derek is back, and Derek is fine and Stiles doesn’t have to freak out anymore. But then the figure rolls to a halt half-sprawled across Stiles and it is smaller and infinitely more curvy than Derek, and his ice cream-addled brain recognizes it as Erica.

“Hey, Stiles,” she says, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face. “How’s it going?”

“Badly,” he says. “Terribly. I have no idea where Derek is. I have no idea what we’re after. Erica -”

She smacks a silencing hand over his mouth. “Nice to see you again too. Listen, we think we might have a lead on the thing that attacked Derek.”

“Really?” says Stiles, his voice still muffled by Erica’s hand pressed to his mouth. “Where? Can we-”

“Stiles,” she says. “Chill. Derek’s fine. Listen, Danny realized that while we can’t track the creature’s scent, we could still track Derek’s. He’s our Alpha, it shouldn’t be too hard. So the more resilient member’s of our group – myself included – are gonna try and follow him and see if we can find out what’s up. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says. “Find Derek. Bring him back.”

She smiles at him. “We will. Don’t freak out. Stop eating pints of ice cream.”

“How’d you know I… you know what? Nevermind. Just go.”

She seems amused at a private joke. “Yes, mom,” she says. “The rest of them are waiting in your yard. Danny and Lydia and Allison are gonna stay here with you.”

“Okay. See you soon,” he says, more of an order than a pleasantry.

“Yes, mom.”

“And don’t call me that,” he calls, as she disappears out the window. A moment later there’s a knock at the door, and Stiles heads down and lets the other fragile humans in. They hang out in Stiles’ room, Stiles sharing his Phish Food with Lydia and Allison.

“I feel like a fourth wheel,” says Danny.

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” says Stiles, waving his ice cream spoon. “And besides, you said you didn’t want any.”

“I don’t,” he says. “I just feel like this is the Worried Girlfriends Club.”

“I object to that,” says Stiles. “I am not in that club.”

“Yes you are,” says Danny.

“Yes, you are,” Lydia confirms, getting another spoonful of ice cream. She’s taking all the caramel, so Stiles hurriedly takes another bite. He swallows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be dumb,” says Lydia.

“You guys are mean,” says Stiles. He turns to Allison. “You’re not mean. You get more ice cream.”

“Thanks,” says Allison, smiling, but she looks amused, like she’s laughing at him.

“You guys all suck,” says Stiles.

Eventually Lydia and Allison fall asleep on blankets on the floor, and Danny goes home to do whatever Danny does in his free time, leaving Stiles to wonder morosely what’s happening with the rest of the pack. Especially Derek. Stiles is worried about Derek.

“Shit,” Stiles says.

He’s worried about Derek, the same way Allison is worried about Scott and Lydia is worried about Jackson. That, of course, is what Danny and Lydia meant. They think Stiles is in love with Derek. Which is ridiculous. Obviously. Even if Stiles were in love with Derek, which he is most assuredly not, it would be ridiculous, because Derek is so far out of Stiles’ league, Stiles can’t even think of an appropriate metaphor for the distance.

Not that Stiles is in love with Derek.

Cause he’s not.

“Shit,” Stiles says again.

“Wha?” mumbles Lydia, waking up.

“I’m in love with Derek Hale,” he admits to her. Sleepy Lydia never remembers anything.

“Oh,” she says, and goes back to sleep.

“God damnit,” he says to her sleeping form. “You all knew, didn’t you?” A chilling thought occurs to him. “Does Scott know?” A worse thought. “Does _Derek_ know?”

“Stiles,” says Allison tiredly. “Shut up.”

Sighing and clutching a blanket like the last shreds of his dignity, Stiles climbs into bed, and sleeps.

In the morning Allison and Lydia are gone. Stiles supposes Scott and Jackson texted to let them know they got back okay. He is momentarily envious of the requited-ness of their love, but quashes it. He is not in love with Derek. Okay, yes, he is, but he’s not going to be. Stiles can quash things.

He thinks about his ten year crush on Lydia.

Okay, no he can’t. How’s he going to deal with Derek? Derek’s going to freak. This is terrible. Stiles can’t deal with this shit.

“Shit,” says Stiles.

“Stiles?” he hears his dad call. “You awake?”

“Yeah, dad.”

“Good,” he says. “Up and at ‘em. Scott came by looking for you, said he wanted to talk to you about something and I should tell you it’s urgent. Are you-”

Whatever he was going to say is interrupted by Stiles rocketing out of his room, still dressed in his by now badly wrinkled jeans and hoodie. “Byedadcan’tstaygottagomeetScottI’lltextyoubye!” Stiles calls, and then he’s out the door. He clambers into his Jeep somewhat awkwardly and pushes the speed limit all the way to Derek’s, which is where Scott will be if his news has something to do with their most-recent monster sighting and Derek’s absence. He pulls up in front of the house and doesn’t pause to admire its refurbishedness, courtesy of a bunch of teenagers with superhuman abilities and Derek’s piles of money. He unlocks the front door with his key and tumbles inside.

“Scott!” he calls. “Scott, are you…”

He trails off as Derek appears, leaning casually on the railing above him. He’s wearing tight jeans and his leather jacket, and his stubble is dark. He looks down at Stiles, looking as amused as he gets, and cocks his head to the side. “Stiles,” he says. “What have we said about knocking?”

“Sorry,” says Stiles, still staring. In light of Stiles’ recent epiphany vis a vis Derek Hale, Derek is looking especially painfully hot. He’s all hard planes and muscles and the sharp line of his jaw and Stiles swallows. “Scott called.”

“He probably wanted to let you know I was home,” says Derek. “And that you freaked out unnecessarily.”

For a minute Stiles thinks Derek somehow knows about the way he worried, and the pints of ice cream, but then he realizes Derek probably just means the whole pack’s reaction to Derek’s absence. “Sorry,” he says. “We were worried about you.”

“No need,” says Derek, jumping the railing and landing gracefully in a way that makes Stiles weak in the knees. “I found the thing. Killed it. We’re good.”

“What was it?” asks Stiles. “What happened? I mean… for the Bestiary.”

Derek sits on the stairs, jerks his head at Stiles to sit. He does so. “It was a spider,” says Derek.

“What?”

“A spider. Big one. Based on what Jackson said I knew it had to be one of them. My family… I’ve had to deal with them before. They live up in the mountains. Sometimes they come down. It wasn’t a big deal. I killed it, I came back.”

“If you’ve dealt with them before why aren’t they in the Bestiary?” Stiles asks.

Derek laughs quietly. “Your Bestiary doesn’t have everything I know in it automatically, you know,” says Derek.

“Well, then tell me,” says Stiles. “And I’ll put it in.”

Derek looks at him for a long minute. “Okay,” he says.

“What?”

“Okay,” Derek repeats. “I’ll come by tonight. Leave your window unlocked.”

“O…Okay?” says Stiles uncertainly.

“Good,” says Derek. “Now get out of my house.”

“Right!” says Stiles, leaping up as if burned. “I’ll just… go. I’ll… yeah. Bye.”

He leaves. Behind him, he hears Derek laughing at him.

That night, waiting in his room for Derek to appear like an extremely sexy shadow, Stiles is panicking. What if Stiles, like, flings himself at Derek and Derek kills him? Or worse, never wants to speak to him again. Stiles honestly isn’t sure anymore whether Scott would leave the pack for him.

He calls Scott.

“Hello?”

“Scott!” he practically squeaks. “If Derek never wants to speak to me again would you leave the pack for me?”

“Um,” says Scott. “Yes? Does Derek never want to speak to you again?”

“Not yet,” says Stiles miserably, sinking onto his bed and clutching the phone like a lifeline as he topples over.

“What did you do?”

“I had an epiphany.”

“You figured out you’re into Derek?”

“How did you know?!” Stiles asks, bolting upright.

“Dude. It’s pretty obvious.”

“Does Derek already know?”

“Probably not,” Scott says. This isn’t that reassuring.

“Scott,” says Stiles reasonably. “You are just about _the_ most oblivious person I have ever met, and _you_ figured it out. How would Derek not know?”

“Derek isn’t great at… feelings,” says Scott. The understatement of the millennium.

“But…”

“Dude. Stiles. Relax. Derek probably doesn’t know. Just… don’t… tell him.”

“ _Why would I tell him that, Scott_!?” Stiles half screams. “ _What possible reason could I have for telling him that_!?”

“Dude, you are, like, physically incapable of keeping secrets.”

“Shit,” says Stiles, sitting back down. “You’re right. I’m gonna tell him. I’m gonna…”

“You’re gonna calm down, pretend you aren’t into Derek, and not mention it ever again until it goes away.”

“What if it doesn’t go away?” says Stiles miserably. “I’m not just into him, Scott. I’m… I’m _in love_ with him.”

“Aaaand I’m out,” says Scott. “Bye Stiles.”

“Dude, don’t hang up on me.”

“Bye, Stiles.”

He hangs up.

“Damnit,” says Stiles, staring at the phone.

“What’s up?” asks Derek, a crouched figure in Stiles’ suddenly open window.

“Aaagh!” Stiles screams, throwing the phone in surprise. “Aahh. Ah. Derek. Hi.”

“Hi,” says Derek, closing the window carefully and sitting in Stiles’ desk chair.

“Hi,” says Stiles, stupidly.

“Who was on the phone?” Derek asks, casually, like he cares.

“Scott,” says Stiles.

“You two are practically attached at the hip, aren’t you?” Derek asks. “Should Allison be jealous?”

Stiles lets out a short burst of startled laughter. “No. I mean… no. Um.”

“You okay?”

“What? Me? Yeah. Yes. Duh.”

“Good,” says Derek, not looking entirely convinced. “You wanna get started?”

Crushing the panicky feeling that is fluttering inside his chest, Stiles manages to kick Derek out of his chair and pull up the Bestiary. He asks Derek a couple of questions as they set to work, but mostly he just lets Derek’s low voice wash over him and transcribes what he says into Bestiary pages. It’s really very relaxing. He feels… safe… around Derek.

“Hey,” says Derek, after a long while. “You look tired. Should I let you go?”

“Oh,” says Stiles, who has slid inexorably downwards in his chair. “Um.”

Derek laughs, stands, and grabs hold of Stiles, hauling him up. Suddenly Stiles in very close to Derek, who smells like the woods and some sort of spice and leather and male and Stiles has to swallow and try very hard not to sniff him. Derek sits Stiles down on Stiles’ bed, and Stiles misses he warmth and solidity of him almost immediately. Stiles has to remind himself that while he might have had life-altering realizations of love recently, Derek has not experienced the same thing, and he basically just tolerates Stiles. Stiles sighs and flops sideways on his bed, and he hears that low chuckle again. He looks up, but Derek is gone.

Stiles sighs. “You left the window open,” he mutters.

There’s a sound on the roof, and Derek slides the window closed from the outside.

Stiles vaults off his bed and over to the window and looks out at Derek. On the other side of the pane, Derek looks back. He smiles at Stiles and mouths, ‘Go to sleep!’

Then he’s gone.

Ever obedient, Stiles goes to sleep.

In the morning he has school again, goddammit, and he has to actually put on actual clothes. School is hell, as per usual, and when it lets out he practically dances out of school. Actually, he does dance, but only a little bit. He gets to his Jeep, climbs in, and squeaks. Derek is sitting in the passenger seat.

“Haa,” says Stiles. “Ah. Um. Hi.”

“Hi,” says Derek. “We need to talk.”

 _Ohshitohshitohshitohshit,_ Stiles thinks. _This is it, I’m dead, it’s gonna be ‘Stiles, I’ve noticed you’re a little bit in love with me. That’s not cool. We can’t hang out anymore’. And then he’s going to kick me out of the pack and I know Scott said he would come with me but maybe he won’t how can he really know until worse comes to worst and-_

“Stiles?”

“Oh,” he says. “Yes. Um. Talk. Okay. We can… talk.”

“Good,” says Derek, and he actually looks relieved. He looks at Stiles. “I talked to Lydia.”

 _Shitshitshitshitshi-“_ Oh?” he asks casually.

“Yeah. She said… well, she said while I was gone you… realized something? Figured something out?”

“Um… kind of?” _Shitshitshitshitmotherfuckershit Lydia you are so dead-_

“So you know,” says Derek, sounding resigned. He looks away, then back at Stiles. “I’m sorry.”

 _Ohshitshitshit he’s about to kick me out oh shit “_ For what?”

“I… for not telling you, I suppose,” says Derek. _Oh shit he knew he knew the whole time._ “I should have… I don’t know. I know it’s probably hard for you” – _you can say that again_ – “And I don’t want things to be… strange… between us.”

“Uh… me… neither?” says Stiles. _Maybe he’s not kicking me out? Maybe he just wants me to let it go?_

“Good,” says Derek, and now he definitely sounds relieved. “Good. I mean, it just… I didn’t mean... I didn’t choose… it just happened…”

“What?” Stiles asks. Now he is confused. Or maybe Derek is confused.

Derek looks at him. “I handled this badly. I shouldn’t have let it happen. I should have told you. But I didn’t. I’m sorry. Can we still be friends?”

“You’re… sorry?” Stiles asks. Derek is definitely confused. “I… think we’re talking about different things.”

“What?” Derek asks. His eyes widen. “This realization you came to… was it about me? Was it… Lydia made it seem like…”

“I don’t know what Lydia told you,” says Stiles. “But… you don’t really have anything to be sorry for. I mean… that I know of.”

“Oh,” says Derek. He looks away. “Nevermind.”

“Oh, nonononono,” says Stiles. “You can’t just show up here, all ‘We need to talk’ and ‘I shouldn’t have let this happen’ and then _not tell me what you’re talking about_. Not cool.”

“It’s nothing,” Derek says, and now he looks annoyed. “I’m just going to kill Lydia, that’s all.”

“So…” says Stiles. “Lydia didn’t… tell you… exactly what my epiphany was about… did she?”

“No,” says Derek, looking sharply at Stiles. “What was it?”

“Oh,” says Stiles airily. “Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“You tell me first.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Well, so’s mine.”

“Tell me,” Stiles says at the same time as Derek. They look at each other. He can see words struggling on the tip of Derek’s tongue.

“Make you a deal,” says Stiles. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” He is not, of course, planning on telling Derek his.

“No.” Derek looks away.

Stiles hits the back of Derek’s head. “Don’t do that! Just tell me! I won’t tell anyone else.”

“That’s… really not the problem.”

“So they already know?”

“Mostly,” Derek sighs. “They’re… perceptive.”

“You can say that again,” Stiles says. “Apparently my epiphany surprised no one but me.”

“Tell me,” Derek asks, and he’s almost pleading now, those gorgeous eyes staring into Stiles’ boring brown ones, and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat. His heart beats harder and faster, and he’s sure Derek can hear it, which is embarrassing.

“I’m…” Stiles starts, then trails off. Don’t tell him, Scott says. Scott. Scott who cannot be his friend anymore if Derek kicks him out of the pack. Maybe. “I’m…” he starts again, takes a deep breath.

“I’m in love with you,” says Derek.

“You knew?” Stiles splutters.

“What?” says Derek, who looks as surprised by his words as Stiles.

“Lydia did tell you!” Stiles exclaims, and he beats his head on the steering wheel again. “Damnitdamnitdamnitdamnit please don’t kick me out of the pack!”

“What?” Derek asks. “Why would I kick you out of the pack?”

“Because… because I’m in love with you,” says Stiles, as if this is obvious.

“You’re…” Derek shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear water out of his ears. “You’re… in love with me?”

“Yes.”

“You… your epiphany. You realized you were in love with… me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to kill Lydia,” Derek growls, and then he leans over the gear shift, grabs Stiles’ face, and crushes their mouths together.

It’s like home. Derek’s mouth is pressed against his and Stiles can feel the heat coming off him and he flails his arms around for a minute before they finally settle draped over Derek’s shoulders. Derek pulls him closer, and Stiles sighs into the kiss, and Derek breaks it, pulling away a little to look at Stiles. He looks shell-shocked.

“Wait,” says Stiles, his brain catching up. “Wait. Was your thing that you’re in love with me too?”

“Maybe.”

“God damnit,” says Stiles, beating on Derek uselessly. “I’m going to _kiss_ Lydia, _you’re_ the one I’m going to kill. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you’d…” Derek flails his arms in a passable imitation of Stiles. “…Freak out!”

“Oh my god,” says Stiles, hitting Derek. “That’s dumb and you should feel dumb. If a superhot Alpha werewolf tells you he’s in love with you, you don’t…” he waves his arms around. “Freak out.”

“Well, now I know that,” says Derek through gritted teeth.

“Oh my god,” says Stiles dropping his forehead onto Derek’s shoulder. It’s kind of nice. Stiles might sniff him just a little. “We’re going to kill each other.”

“Probably,” says Derek. “But you love me anyway.”

Stiles sighs. “I guess I do,” he says. “Shit.”


End file.
